Dawson got to work in a foul mood that wasn’t improved by practically everyone talking about him. He was the overnight sensation in all the wrong ways. Chikata didn’t dare say a word when Dawson walked into the office like an ogre. They both knew that at nine o’clock sharp Dawson would be summoned to Lartey’s office.
“What happened?” the chief supol demanded.
Dawson was able to tell him only a portion of the story. Lartey cut him short as he snatched a copy of the Graphic from his desk. He held it up to Dawson’s face.
“Have you read this?”
“I glanced at it.”
“Glanced. Well, I suggest you read it to see just how much of a fool you look.”
“It’s the press, sir. That’s what they do.”
“Oh, now it’s the press’s fault? D.I. Dawson, competence is our responsibility and incompetence our burden.”
“Nothing incompetent about this, sir. Just because Botswe has social status doesn’t mean he doesn’t get investigated. Taking a child off the street and bundling him into a car does not look aboveboard to me.”
“But it turned out it was, and the sad thing is that you could have figured it all out with just a few minutes’ chat with Dr. Botswe at his house. You did not have to arrest the man, not to mention the other two.”
“I didn’t arrest him, sir.”
“It amounted to the same thing, especially in the public’s view.”
“He came voluntarily.”
“Just barely. You threatened to handcuff him first. Don’t think I don’t know every single detail of what happened, Dawson. Botswe called me himself early this morning.”
“Did he really.”
“Oh yes. He said you were arrogant, cocky, and insolent. And I believe him because that’s exactly what’s on display right now. What happens to you, Dawson? You’re going along nice and steady with the investigation progressing smoothly, and then it’s as though someone turns a switch and you go off the rails and everything is out of control. Why is that?”
“I don’t know how to answer that. I’m sorry you feel everything is out of control.”
“I do, Dawson. And if you had a little humility, you would see it yourself. Have you checked Dr. Botswe’s alibis?”
“I have,” Dawson said soberly. “He’s telling the truth. He was in Kumasi at the time Musa Zakari was killed. He was also holding a dinner party the night Comfort was murdered.”
“Exactly correct.”
“You looked into it yourself, sir?”
“Of course I did, Dawson. When he called me, I asked him for the details of his alibi and then I did my own little bit of detecting-probably even faster than you did. I didn’t get to be chief superintendent of police by being an idiot, you know.”
“I didn’t mean to imply that.”
Lartey sighed. “This is what you’re going to do. You’re to issue a public apology to Dr. Botswe and his guest and staff member through the press. That’s number one. Number two, you will visit Dr. Botswe and personally apologize for maltreating and disrespecting him. Three, you will from now on report to me every single morning what your plans are for each day before you embark upon them. Understood?”
“Yes, sir. Is there anything else?”
Lartey pointed a finger at him. “You’re lucky that practically everybody is tied up with the Ghana Petroleum affair, otherwise I might have removed you from this case. So be thankful.”
“Yes, indeed,” Dawson said, standing up. “Every day, sir, I count my blessings.”
In the afternoon, Dawson made his atonement pilgrimage to Dr. Botswe’s house. Obi came to the gate but did not open it. He was cold, and his previous deference toward Dawson was gone.
“The doctor is not here,” he said flatly. “You have to wait.”
“When will he be back, please?” Dawson asked politely. “About four o’clock.”
“All right,” Dawson said, glancing at his watch. Only about thirty minutes away. “I’ll wait.”
Since he was now persona non grata, he wasn’t expecting to be invited in. He wasn’t. Obi turned away and went back to his gardening or fixing things, or whatever it was he had been doing.
Dawson sat and waited while he thought dispiritedly about things. His concentration on people like Socrate, Austin, and Botswe seemed misplaced. Maybe this murderer is just some lunatic roaming the streets of Accra. You might not just be looking at the wrong trees, you could be in the wrong forest completely.
What should he do now? Should the surveillance continue, and for how long? As long as Lartey would tolerate it, Dawson thought, which would not be much longer. He was feeling deflated and listless. Maybe he was out of his depth. After all, he had never had a serial killer case, rare as they were in Ghana.
Botswe showed up about four-thirty in his lovely Infiniti. He glided into the garage. He had evidently spotted Dawson because Obi came out a few minutes later to tell him that the doctor would be able to see him now.
Botswe was at the window in the sitting room looking out onto the garden.
“Good afternoon, Doctor,” Dawson said.
The professor turned slowly. “Inspector.”
“How are you?”
“As well as could be expected, I suppose. Please, have a seat.”
They both sat down.
“Dr. Botswe,” Dawson began, “I owe you a big apology for my actions last night. I wanted to tell you how sorry I am. It was a complete blunder on my part.”
“It was very upsetting, to say the least.”
“Yes, I can see why. As I said, my humble apologies.”
He nodded. “Apology accepted. On reflection, you were doing your job. Interestingly enough, you came to mind this morning.”
“Why is that?”
“I was browsing through my book of Ghanaian proverbs and came across one that seemed apropos of your circumstances. It goes something like ‘If you are on the road to nowhere, find another road.’ Not to deliberately discourage you, but maybe we’re not looking where we should for this killer.”
Dawson noticed the word we. “You could be right in a way,” he said, “but I think it’s more that I haven’t yet understood the message he’s sending us in these murders. If only I could decode the message, I believe I’d be led to him.”
“Yes. If it’s all right with you, Inspector, let me ponder over it some more and call you in about a day with my ideas.”
“That’s fine, thank you. By the way, the book of proverbs you were looking at, is it Three Thousand Six Hundred Ghanaian Proverbs?”
“Yes. Are you familiar with it?”
“Yes. My brother Cairo sells it in his crafts shop in Osu.”
“It’s a terrific book to amble through, as well as a good resource.”
Dawson stood up. “Thank you for seeing me with such courtesy, Dr. Botswe. It won’t go unrecognized.”
They shook hands. Botswe walked him to the door. Dawson had to give the man credit: he had scrupulous manners.
50
Daramani was home. He greeted Dawson like a long-lost brother.
“Oh, chaley, how I miss you,” he said. “Why? Why so long you haven’t come to see me?”
“Too busy. You know how it is.”
“Sit down, sit down,” Daramani said, moving some clutter. “Do you want something to drink? I can send someone to get you some Malta.”
“No, thank you, Daramani.”
“So how are you, my brother? You look tired.”
“I am. I’m working a tough case.”
“It’s worrying your head, eh? You need to relax small-small. Because you don’t smoke wee anymore, that’s why you feel tense.”